


Autoinjector + Helping Hand

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Series: Wunderkind 0.5 [8]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016), Wunderkind (MacGyver TV 2016 Fanfiction)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, fear of needles, or one can assume Riley's been taking migraine meds throughout the series, sort of an AU of an AU?, wunderkind, wunderkind-adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: I'm a competent, badass secret agent. I do not need to call my dad to give me my auto-injector meds.Riley looks down at the deceptively innocuous box in her hand. Her mind is dragging her back to a humid night in a crowded Malaysian city square. A makeshift needle full of an even sketchier concoction, something Mac promised would be enough to convince D77 that Ralph was dead.And the split second decision she made that ended with her plunging the needle into her own shoulder.
Relationships: Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016) & Riley Davis
Series: Wunderkind 0.5 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947766
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Autoinjector + Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatWingsAthena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatWingsAthena/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wunderkind-Season 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166894) by [JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter). 



> This could be considered a slight AU of an AU where Riley in Wunderkind has migraines. Or, you can just roll this into headcanons about the universe! Whatever you prefer ;)

_ I'm a competent, badass secret agent. I do not need to call my dad to give me my auto-injector meds _ .

Riley looks down at the deceptively innocuous box in her hand. She'd almost rather suffer a month of migraines than do this right now.

Operative word being almost. She spent about two years cycling through medications as a teenager before the auto-injector worked out. They were hell. And she can't deal with that in the field. There's no way she's going to let her team down just because she's suddenly unable to stick herself with a pointy object. 

But she can’t even force herself to open the box.

Her mind is dragging her back to a humid night in a crowded Malaysian city square. A makeshift needle full of an even sketchier concoction, something Mac promised would be enough to convince D77 that Ralph was dead.

And the split second decision she made that ended with her plunging the needle into her own shoulder. 

She hasn’t been that close to dead since Lake Como, and it was too soon. 

And she’s just as unlikely to pull out that injector as she would be to turn a loaded gun on her chest. She survived once. But she hasn’t made it as long as she has in the business by tempting fate. 

Logically, she knows the medication in that needle isn’t going to kill her. She’s been taking the same thing at the same dose for four years. But logic isn’t going to make her suddenly capable of opening that box. She wishes it could, but she’s too familiar with trauma, and her own reactions to it, to believe that she can reason herself into not panicking right now. 

She sets the box down and takes a couple deep breaths, sitting down on the edge of her bed and rubbing her sweaty hands on her jeans. If she could just do it and get it over with, she’d try. But her hands are shaking, and she knows this wouldn’t be fast. She’d fumble and make things worse. 

_ You’re trying to find reasons not to do it. _

_ Shut up. _

_ Suck it up. You’ve been tortured a dozen times on three different continents. It’s one needle.  _

_ I wasn’t torturing myself. _

She swallows around the growing lump in her throat and taps her fingers rhythmically on her legs. 

_ I could go back to taking what I took before. _

_ You know those didn’t work. And if at all possible, field agents are expected to explore the longest-lasting solutions. Once a month injections are a lot more practical than carrying pills. _

_ There’s exceptions. _

_ You don’t need one.  _

Riley sighs. Her hands are still shaking. Normally the tapping calms them down, mimicking using her keyboard takes her into her focused headspace. She can code while freezing her ass off, dehydrated, bleeding out, or mildly concussed. Her fingers take over and her mind goes blank aside from what she needs. 

But apparently she can’t ‘tap out’ of this. 

If Sam was here, Riley would ask her for help. But her roommate is working at Phoenix today, she left before Riley was even awake, with a note on the kitchen counter that said she’d gone in early for a meeting with Thornton. Riley doesn’t know what Sam is really doing there, she’s clearly keeping secrets. But she’s also not prying into Riley’s search for Nick, so Riley isn’t going to ask questions. 

She looks at the box on her desk and then pulls out her phone.

_ You’re really gonna call him? _

_ If not, I’m just going to sit here and spiral all day. _

Before the nasty little voice in her head (she nicknamed him Jeff a few years ago after her mom’s shittiest boyfriend) can talk her out of it, she calls Jack. 

“Hey baby girl, what’s up?” Jack asks. 

“I...um…” she swears she can hear his  _ breathing _ change from relaxed to worried. “It’s my autoinjector day. Well, actually it’s two days late.” 

Jack clearly understands what she isn’t telling him, because she hears a soft sigh and then a swallow. He doesn’t have any love lost for the Malaysia op either. “I’m coming over, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

“You want me to stay on the phone?”

“No, you’re gonna be driving.” Riley says. “I’ll be fine.”

Jack hangs up, and Riley guesstimates that if he was at his apartment it’ll take him around fifteen minutes to get here since he’s worried about her. Not the eleven it would take if he thought her life was on the line, but not the twenty-seven of a leisurely drive on a normal day.

While she’s waiting, she changes into a pair of her running shorts so Jack can do the injection on her skin, gets out the alcohol swabs, and makes sure any evidence of her ongoing search for Nick is safely squirreled away. She was able to spread out her intel a little while Sam was gone and try to make connections, but she doesn’t want Jack to find this stuff. He’s going to tell her she’s obsessed, or worse, that she needs to move on.

By the time Jack knocks on her door, all the papers and the mini-corkboard are stowed in the lockbox under her bed. 

Jack has a key, and as he likes to say, ‘family don’t knock’, but Jack is also all too familiar with how triggered PTSD can go. She’s okay, at the moment, but she’s still grateful he’s leaving the decision to let him in up to her. She wasn’t too sure about Jack when they were first teamed up, and she’d ribbed him relentlessly over his lack of awareness of modern technology, but she has to admit she’s grateful Matty put her with someone who’s been around the agency block. 

When she slides back the deadbolt and opens the door, Jack steps in hesitantly. “You okay?”

She nods. The hand-shaking thing has finally more or less stopped. 

Jack follows her into the bedroom, and she hands him the auto-injector box and an alcohol wipe. He opens the packet and swabs a spot on her leg, and she jumps a little at the chilly feeling.

Jack readies the injector with a practiced move. He had to do this for her twice when she busted her hand punching Mom’s boyfriend that time. 

“I’m gonna do it quick and then it’s gonna be over, okay?” Jack says. “Trust me, it’ll be way better than that time I got bit by a mangy possum and my mom had to take me to the doctor and they gave me rabies shots. That crap hurts, okay? Like...I’m pretty sure that’s why I don’t like needles now. Whoa. Man. Never realized that before now. Talking to you’s better than therapy.”

Riley can tell he’s trying to distract her. It’s almost working. She didn’t really feel the needle, but she does feel the medicine going in. It  _ hurts. _ She bites her lip and stifles a gasp and shudder, and then, as promised, it’s over. 

Jack wipes her leg with another alcohol swab for good measure, then tosses the injector into the sharps container by Riley’s bed. “There we are. All done.”

“Thanks.” Riley doesn’t stand up just yet. She’s feeling a little vertigo just sitting here, her head spinning with the memory of collapsing to the pavement as Mac’s little heart-stopping trick took effect. 

“Whoa, hey, you okay?” Jack asks.

Riley nods. “I will be. Just need a sec.”

“Okay.” Jack steps back. “You want a hug?”

“Please.” 

He pulls her close, and she feels safe and protected there. Jack saved her in Malaysia and he’s always going to be there, whatever she needs. Rescue from crazed terrorists or help with her medication.

“You feel up to going and getting some ice cream?” He asks into her messy hair.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” Riley grins. Jack’s got her. She’s going to be just fine. “But let me put some real pants on first.” 


End file.
